Her
by Rebecca J. McKeller
Summary: She hasn't seen her daughter in seven years, and now she has to raise her. Adrianna's POV. Adrianna/Maisie, with appearances by Navid, Naomi and Silver in later chapters. Beta'd by LostInSalem
1. Chapter 1

I couldn't believe it was her. It was her inside me all those months. She never seemed real until I held her in my arms. I didn't let her. But there she was, cradled in the nooks of my elbows and forearms, looking up at me. I couldn't help but wonder if she knew me - if she knew I was her mother.

I suppose that doesn't matter now. Only minutes later, she was gone. No, she didn't die. She wasn't ripped away from me - though my heart felt like it was ripping apart as I handed her over to her new mommy. To the woman who would raise her. And soon, she wouldn't recognize me as her mother. I wouldn't even be a thought in the back of her mind. Not until she was much older, anyway. Even then, would she care? Would she ever miss me as much as I already miss her?

Stop it! I told myself. Stop! This isn't helping! She's gone. You have to deal with it.

Except I didn't. At all. Deal with it, I mean. Something you should know about me, I'm amazing when it comes to hiding under a blanket of denial. I could almost force myself to go a whole day, not thinking of her for any more than moments at a time, because if I did, I knew I'd break. I'm an actress, and I guess my acting abilities are even stronger when it comes to fooling myself.

I had to hide from my feelings. I had to be strong. I gave her up - not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I wanted her to have the best, and I wasn't ready to be a mom. No matter how hard I wished, I couldn't make it happen. I was sixteen. Only months before her birth, I'd gotten out of rehab. It was an hourly struggle to stay sober. And I'll be honest, I relapsed for awhile after I gave her up. I'm better now. For the moment.

Maisie. My sweet baby girl. And I'd never know her.

-o-o-o-

"Adrianna Tate-Duncan," I say, picking up my cell phone. There's silence on the other end. "Hello?"

As if suddenly brought back to reality, a woman's startled voice comes through, "Uh, hello! Ms Tate-Duncan? This is Francine Gray. I'm a social worker with DCF."

"Uh, hi?" Why are they calling me? What the hell?

"I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"What is it?" I ask. Every possible scenario runs through my head. Someone was hurt - now who? Navid? Naomi? Silver? One of my bandmates? Karen? Taylor? Josh? But why would DCF be calling about any of them?

"Greg and Leslie Colt, the couple who adopted your daughter," I cringe as she says those words, "were involved in an accident. Unfortunately Greg died on-scene, and Leslie followed a few days later."

I'm silent. I have no idea what to say - is there anything I should say?

"I'm just going to cut to the chase. Unfortunately, it seems Maisie has no where to go," Francine continues. "We're hoping to find her a permanent and stable home, otherwise she'll have to go into foster care. We were hoping you could provide that home."

"Wait, wh-what? But, I, um, I gave her up," I stutter. By the end of that sentence, my words were barely squeaking their way out. "But, I mean, doesn't she have other family?"

"Sadly, no. Greg had no siblings and Leslie's sister is traveling the world. She's not willing to settle down with Maisie. Greg's parents are both in an assisted-care facility and Leslie's father is not fit to raise a child. She has no one else."

"I-I see."

My head hasn't spun this much since my first night after giving up coke. Even then, I probably had a clearer train of thought. I just went from zero to headache in about five words. She has no one else.

"We understand this is a big decision," Francine rambles. "You don't need to answer right now, but sooner would be better."

"Okay," is all I manage to get out.

In the background I can hear a tiny voice crying that she lost her dolly. "Just a moment," Francine tells me. Heels click so loudly on the floor that I can make out their sound through the phone. "She's right here, sweetie," Francine replies soothingly, before redirecting her attention back to me. "Sorry about that."

"Um, sure, no problem. W-was that...?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Well, please get back to us if you have any questions or once you've made your decision. My number is 555-7864. We look forward to hearing back from you, Ms Tate-Duncan."

"Okay, uh, thanks." I'm so stunned I can't move, but just as she's moved her face from the phone to click the 'end' button, I hear myself yell, "Wait!"

"Yes?" she asks, moving the phone back to her ear.

"I'll-I'll do it. I'll take her."

"Are you sure about this?" she asks, hesitant.

"Yes," I reply, though I doubt I had any confidence behind that answer.

-o-o-o-

Okay, now what the hell have I gotten myself into?


	2. Chapter 2

Tuesday. Tuesday will be...oh God, I can't even think about it without freaking out. Tuesday will be the day I meet my daughter. This Tuesday! I can't breathe.

I haven't seen her since the day she was born. Not even pictures! Oh God. What if I can't even recognize my own daughter? What if I see her and don't even know it's her? I'm going to be a terrible mother. I won't even recognize my own daughter.

Maybe I shouldn't do this...

I take a deep breath. If I don't, she'll go into foster care. But what if I'm so bad that she'd be better off with complete strangers? I'm so not prepared for this.

I look back at the shelf of kids' comforters, trying to figure out what pattern Maisie would like best. I already spent half an hour trying to choose between a stuffed penguin, a teddy bear, and a doll - until I finally threw all three in the cart. I also have every kind of ball in there from bouncy to soccer. She has all kinds of books and coloring books. And now I have to choose between planets, rainbows and flowers to cover her bed with. I slap my hand against my forehead and pick up the flowered one.

What else do kids need? I already bought her furniture. Navid agreed to come over and help me arrange it (someone from the store is going to assemble it). He probably only agreed because I cried for about an hour beforehand. He also reminded me that I'm supposed to be going on tour in a couple of months. I still have no idea what to do about that. Cancel it, I guess.

Okay, so, furniture, bedding, toys...what else? What else? Clothing! Crap. I have no idea what size she is. I guess I'll be taking her once I pick her up. That feels so weird to think about. I'm going to pick her up. I'm going to pick up Maisie. I'm going to pick up my daughter. My daughter. I know I've had seven years of having a daughter, but it's so different to have a daughter you're actually going to have to care for and raise. I'm not even a good babysitter.

I pick up a few things I think a seven year old might like (although how the hell am I supposed to know? I'm just copying what a few other mothers are doing nearby...) then head to the cash. All I can say is, children are bloody expensive. It's a good thing I have money. I have a whole new respect for my mom. She didn't have anything.

-o-o-o-

I didn't sleep at all last night. Not that I slept any night before since Francine called. But last night was the worst. I just kept getting up and checking if everything was ready for Maisie. Her room is beautiful - at least I think so. The walls have been painted green to match the leaves of the flowers on her bedspread. The white furniture brightens it up, and the toys are all nicely arranged, but the drawers are empty and the frames are pictureless, except for one - a picture Navid snapped of me holding Maisie the day she was born. I've brought a copy of it with me everywhere I went, though I never admitted it to anyone.

I'm on the road now, and probably the worst driver the world has ever seen. I shouldn't be driving in this condition. I've already missed at least three stop signs and probably a school zone or two, but I don't want to be late. I'm supposed to pick her up in eight minutes.

I pull into the parking lot with three minutes to spare. I think I'm going to throw up, I'm so nervous. This is worse than the first time I performed in front of a crowd while sober. Naomi, Silver and Navid all offered to come with me - so did pretty much everyone else I told - but I thought it would be easier if I went by myself. I must've relapsed or something because there's no way that was a rational decision. I'm barely keeping my cool - if this can even be considered cool.

I apply a fresh coat of lipstick and run my finger along my eyelashes to fix them up. Checking my appearance once more, I force myself to get out of the car. I'm looking pretty good for the immense lack of sleep. I'm wearing a black dress that falls just above my knees with a red belt to keep it tight at my waist. My pumps match the belt. My hair's been pulled back into a loose half-ponytail, falling in curls down to my elbows. I pick up my small purse and throw my keys inside, heading toward the building.

There's a scary-looking woman at the desk when I walk in. Okay, so it's not that she's scary looking - there's no green skin or glowing red eyes or anything. She just looks mean and like she's probably slept even less than I have.

"Hi," I say, smiling at her as best I can.

"Hello," she replies, not looking up from her computer.

"Um, I'm not really sure where I'm supposed to go," I tell her. "I'm Adrianna Tate-Duncan. I'm supposed to be picking up my daughter," I pause for a minute, barely believing that just came out of my mouth. I clear my throat. "Her name is Maisie."

Now the woman looks up, giving me a once-over, a mixture of amusement and joy in her eyes. "She's in there." The woman points. "Down that hallway, fifth door on your left."

I swear I can hear her laughing as I go, but I shake it off and follow her directions. I count the doors until I reach the fifth one. Sucking in my breath, I knock.

Within moments, the door swings open and a woman, who I assume must be Francine, is staring back at me. Her hair is in a messy bun, though it looks as if it once was nicely done up. Her glasses are halfway off her face and she looks as if she's about to have a panic attack.

"Um, hi," I say, half-smiling.

"Are you Adrianna?" she asks.

"Yeah." I nod.

"Thank God," she mutters, taking a seat across from her desk. Her chair is spinning and a little girl - though I can't quite see her face - is pushing it along, laughing like a maniac. I can't help but smile.

Maisie continues spinning in the chair as Francine goes over some paperwork with me. To be honest, I'd much rather be in Maisie's spot right now. This paperwork stuff is boring me like crazy, and on little sleep, I'm impressed I'm staying awake. Suddenly the spinning stops, and a short dark-haired figure jumps off and starts running around the room at a speed faster than I'm sure I ever attained. At least she looks happy.

"Maisie!" Francine yells. "Maisie! Stop running! We use our indoor speeds here. Maisie!" Finally, the seven year old stops running and plops down on the floor behind the desk. With a more soothing tone, Francine says, "Maisie, come over here and meet Adrianna. She's your mother. You'll be going to live with her."

"She's not my mommy!" comes an adamant little voice. I can't say that doesn't sting to hear.

"Yes she is, sweetie."

"No she's not! My mommy died!"

"She's your mommy too. You don't know her yet, but you will like her, I promise. She's really really nice! Come out and meet her." Francine smiles, but I can tell she's losing her patience from dealing with a stubborn little girl all morning.

There's silence as she thinks it over. Finally she emerges and walks over to me, slowly. I bend down a little to be at eye level with her.

"Hi Maisie!" I smile as broadly as I can.

"Hi," she responds, unenthusiastically. I can't help but notice how much she looks like me. Her eyes are shiny and green and her hair is long and dark. Her skin is paler than mine, but I've also spent a lot more time getting spray tans than I imagine a six year old would. She's clutching a large stuffed raccoon and wearing a pale yellow dress with daisies embroidered along the seams.

"I'm Adrianna," I tell her. "I'm your..." I cut myself off, seeing the dissatisfaction in her eyes. "I'll be taking care of you."

She studies me a moment and walks in a circle around me, stopping precisely where she started. She cocks her head to the side and reaches up to feel a piece of my hair. I'm not entirely sure what's happening. Out of no where she yanks on it. I cringe in shock and pain. "Ow!"

She backs up and glares at me. "You're not my mommy." She folds her arms across her chest.

I'm not really sure how to respond. Francine is looking at me to say something, so I decide to level with Maisie. "I know you don't remember me honey, but there's not a day - not a minute - where I don't think about you." She looks at me with intrigue, but the glare hasn't disappeared, or even shown signs of wavering. I continue anyway, "I had you when I was really super-young. I wanted to keep you and raise you, but I couldn't. I knew you'd be better with Greg and Leslie - your other mommy and daddy."

"So you're my mommy but you got rid of me?" she asks.

"I didn't 'get rid' of you," I say, slightly defensively. "I gave you to two people who could give you a better life. It's because I love you."

"Then how come I never knew you?" she demands.

I bite my lip. "Your mommy and daddy and I thought it would be easier that way."

She turns to Francine. "You lied. I don't like her," she says.


	3. Chapter 3

Never have I felt more exhausted and accomplished at the same time than when I buckled Maisie into the car after a long, and ultimately painful fight. Painful for me, that is. I'm pretty sure this child has a heart of steel. I shouldn't call her this child. She's my child, though she'll never admit it. I told her she doesn't have to call me 'mom' or 'mommy' or anything. For now she's agreed to Adrianna - a huge step above Poopyface, which is what I was getting before. I just wish she didn't hate me so much. I guess I deserve it, though. I gave her away. She has no reason to like me. And on top of that, she just lost the only parents she ever knew. Of course she'd be upset.

I knew I'd be a terrible mother.

I sigh and pull into my long driveway, the gate closing behind us. I'm tempted to text someone and beg for their help, but I have a feeling that would make things even worse.

I lead Maisie up to her bedroom. Her eyes light up and I can see a smile trying to dig its way out, but she refuses to let up on the glaring. She's definitely my kid, if for no other reason than her superb acting abilities.

"Do you like it?" I ask.

She shrugs, though deep down I know she's pleased. "It's okay."

"I'm going to get your stuff from the car while you have a look around," I tell her. "Stay in your room for now, then I'll show you the rest of the house."

She nods, but I'm not convinced she's going to listen to me. I saw her eyeing the staircase to the attic earlier. Still, I leave her and run down to grab her stuff.

So if there's one thing I've learned today, it's that running up and down stairs with luggage in heels is a very, very bad idea, especially when you're chasing a kid who's trying to break into your bedroom.

To my surprise, she's still there when I return. I help Maisie get everything unpacked, then show her the rest of the house. She seems to be quite fond of it. Well, at least she likes something about living with me. She took a particular liking to the recording studio. I heard her singing when she thought I wasn't listening. She has a great voice! I make a mental note to ask if she'd be interested in vocal lessons when she no longer hates me (if that day ever comes).

Another room she liked is the library. To be honest, I don't use that room much. It's mostly for show. It's not that I don't like to read, I just don't have a whole lot of time - and if I do, I'm usually too tired to focus on anything. I guess Maisie loves to read. I've managed to pry it out of her that her favorite books are Mary-Kate and Ashley mysteries and The Babysitter Little Sister series, but she'll read anything put in front of her. The only things I read at her age were scripts.

For dinner, I made her Kraft Dinner. The chef came in about halfway through me boiling the water and looked appauled, but I told him his services wouldn't be necessary. Maisie apparently doesn't like anything besides mac and cheese, hot dogs, chicken nuggets and grilled cheese. At least I have the basic cooking skills to make some of those things. Well, I thought I did until she scowled at me, demanding ketchup. Once I got that for her, she wanted parmesan cheese. Then she needed more milk. Then she decided she wanted juice instead.

I never knew my acting skills could be so handy as they did today in maintaining my cool. I'm also grateful that my amazing sense of denial kicked in. If it hadn't, I'd probably be sobbing for the rest of the night that she's going to hate me for the rest of our lives.

After she finished eating, I told her she could play and watch television until her bedtime. By the way, a bedtime? I haven't had one of those like ever, but Navid reminded me that kids need structure. So...proper bedtimes for a seven year old? I had to google that. It seems 8:30 PM was the consensus on Yahoo! Answers. 8:30 PM. I don't remember the last time I went to bed so early, save for passing out drunk. Still, I send her to bed, or...well...I try to send her to bed. I'm not entirely sure if that can be called a success.

She kicks. She screams. She cries. Oh God. Those tears. I've learned another thing tonight. When she cries, I cry. I had a backbone. I have no idea what happened to it! It's like the moment Maisie got here, any strength I had just disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

It's ten. For an hour and a half, Maisie has been screaming and crying. She misses her parents. I've tried to talk to her. I've tried to help, but she won't let me comfort her. Now I'm doing all I can think of to do. I'm baking cookies.

Now, don't get me wrong. It's not as if these cookies are anything special and I'm a terrible cook, so they're not even from scratch. I found some cookie dough in the fridge that I keep for any time I feel upset. Although I never cook it up. I just read somewhere that cookie dough isn't actually good for you and I figure I shouldn't make Maisie any less healthy than I currently am.

The timer buzzes and I jump, not expecting it. It seems like I've been worrying so much that I missed the time going by. I grab an oven mitt and pull out the tray, sliding it onto a cooling rack. Maisie is screaming so loudly that I can hear her from down here. My eyes are probably a mess from crying with her. Thank God I took my make-up off a few hours ago.

I check my watch, waiting until the cookies are cool enough to slide them onto a plate. I pour some milk in a glass and take them up to Maisie. I knock on the door and am immediately greeted with, "Go away!"

I consider it for a moment, but open the door anyway. "Maisie, sweetheart..."

I can feel her glaring at me through the dark. I wish I knew what to do to make her stop hating me.

"Go away!" she screams. Wow that kid has a set of pipes! I wish I saw less of myself in her.

I turn on her light. Her cheeks are drenched, and so is the hair surrounding her face. Her eyes are so bloodshot and the tips of her ears down to her cheeks are so bright red I wonder if she's taken a breath in the last hour.

"Go away," she mumbles this time, turning away from me.

I take a seat next to her on the bed. "I brought you something," I tell her, holding out the cookies and milk. "I know it won't take away the pain, but cookies and milk always helped me when I was upset."

She's still sobbing, gasping for air, but she's turned back to face me. I can't help using my free hand to move the hair from her face. At first she looks like she's going to push it away, but reaches for a cookie instead. She takes a bite. Tears continue streaming down her face, but the sobs have stopped momentarily.

"It's burned!" she exclaims.

I cringe. Crap. I knew I shouldn't cook.

"It's burned!" she repeats, louder, then throws it across the room and continues crying, even louder and harder this time.

I'm starting to panic. "I'm sorry Maisie. I'm so sorry!"

"Go away!" she screams. "Go away!"

"Honey," I try again, "I'm not going anywhere. I want to help you. I-I love you."

Her eyes burn as she looks into mine. "No, you don't," she says sharply.

"Yes, I do," my voice starts to crack. "You're my daughter and I love you."

She pouts. "You gave me away! You didn't want me..."

I choke. "I did want you."

"No you didn't! Mommy and Daddy wanted me but you didn't!"

"I did," I repeat, sighing. "I wish I could make you understand. I wanted you so much, but I was a kid. Greg and Leslie - your mommy and daddy - they could give you a better life. That's why I gave you to them."

She doesn't look convinced.

"I was going to name you Hannah," I say after a period of silence. "I was going to marry Navid and we were going to raise you together."

"But you didn't!" she retorts.

"No," I reply slowly, looking down at my hands. "We didn't."

"Why?" she asks quietly, unsure if she really wants to know.

I falter. I don't think any reason I give her will make up for it. She's too young to understand that I just wanted to give her a good life.

I take a breath. "Sweetie, I...I wanted you. Okay, I wanted you. I want to make that clear. But I was sixteen. I was in high school and I couldn't keep you, no matter how much I wished I could. When I was sixteen, everything was different. I didn't live like this - like I do now."

"You didn't?" She seems surprised.

"No. My mom and I, we didn't have much. She worked as a waitress and I was acting, but I didn't make a lot of money. I was also in a really bad place before you were born. I, um," I hesitate. Should I tell her?

"You what?" she asks. Annoyingly perceptive, this one.

"I had a lot of problems. I did a lot of things I shouldn't have and I hurt a lot of people." I shouldn't tell her just yet about the drugs. And by 'just yet' I mean 'ever' - or at least a few years.

She frowns at me, still trying to decide.

"Maisie, there's really nothing I wanted more than to have been able to provide you with a good home, a good family and raise you myself. The best I could do was give you the first two. I found the best people I could so you could be as happy as you could. I wanted you to have a better life than I did."

She looks directly into my eyes and says, "Okay."

"Okay?" I repeat. What just happened? Does she forgive me, or is she just a crafty little girl trying to get me out of her room?

"Yeah."

I'm tempted to follow up with more, but I'm afraid if I do, she'll turn on me again. Instead, all I say is, "Are you going to be okay to sleep? Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No," she says, almost immediately.

I brush my thumb against her cheek and smile at her a moment before standing and heading for the door.

"Wait," I hear her mutter quietly.

I turn back toward her. "Do you want something honey?"

She bites her lip, then slowly nods. I take a few steps toward her. She reaches one of her tiny hands out toward me. Instinctively, I give her my hand in return. I feel a tug as she pulls me closer and moves over in her bed, making space for me. I climb in, hesitantly. She folds herself into a tiny ball, clutching her stuffed koala and closes her eyes, not saying anything. Within minutes, she's asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

I spent the entire night half-hanging off a child-size bed. I can honestly say I haven't done this before - and there's not much I can say that about anymore. I think the beds on the tour bus are actually more comfortable. That's definitely something I thought I'd never say. I'm not entirely sure how I'm still able to move right now, but I'm doing it.

Of course, Maisie is fine. She's jumping rope in the living room - even though I asked her several times not to - and hopped up on sugar. I'm not sure how she found my stash of chocolate, but she did - and she ate all of it. She's on a bigger sugar high than I ever thought existed. Apparently I knew nothing about life before Maisie got here.

I sigh, watching her from the couch. I've missed so much of her life. She's grown up so much since the tiny newborn I held in my arms. I missed so many things. I don't even know what her first words were! I never got to see her first steps or her first day of school...

School. Oh, crap! School! I totally forgot about that! How could I forget about school? She's seven! She has to be in school!

"School!" I blurt out.

She stops jumping and faces me. "School?"

I stumble, "Yeah, I mean, shouldn't you be in school?"

She gives me a condescending look. "It's summer."

I shake my head and laugh a little. "Yeah, so it is."

I swear she just rolled her eyes at me. I thought they weren't supposed to do that until they were teenagers. I don't even want to think about what she'll be like as a teenager.

Maisie goes back to jump roping. I must admit, she's pretty good at it.

"Um," I say, "just out of curiosity..." She scowls and looks back at me. "When does school start?"

She shrugs, clearly not interested in this conversation. "End of August?"

That wasn't helpful, but I don't say anything. Instead I hop up and grab my laptop from the next room. I google schools near my house before realizing I live just down the street from my old grade school. I'm not entirely sure how I never knew that existed. It dawns on me that I have to call and register her there. It says they start in just over a week. I better call them fast!

I pick up the phone and dial the number listed on the site. Some mean-sounding lady picks up.

"West Beverly Elementary School," she says.

"Uh, hi!" I say. "My name is Adrianna Tate-Duncan, and, um, I need to register my, um, my daughter for your school."

I'm so glad it's a public school. There's no way she'd get in a private school on this short of notice.

"Name?" she asks, incredibly dissatisfied with me.

"Adrianna Tate-Duncan," I say.

"No, the child's name."

"Oh, um, her name is Maisie."

"Maisie what?"

"Um..." I realize now that her legal name isn't the same as mine. "Colt. Maisie Colt."

"Colt," she repeats. I hear clicks, which I imagine are the sounds of the keys she's angrily typing.

She asks me a ton of other information. I know most of it, but some things I have to make up. I dug around for at least five minutes while stalling her with the whole story about how I just got Maisie back trying to find somewhere - anywhere - that might say what school she attended last year for the first grade. The woman seemed less than uninterested in my story, but at least I finally found the name of the school. It's some school I've never heard of and I can barely pronounce its name.

The lady tells me I need to come in for some parents' night thing on Friday night - seriously? Does no one have a life? - and I tell her I'll be there. I scribble it down on a pad of paper and then on my arm because there's no way I'm going to remember to look on the pad of paper.

And then she tells me the kicker. Parents' night means 'kids will be at home'. And I gave my staff the week off so I could be alone with Maisie. Considering I'm 23, and, let's face it, pretty damn hot, how in hell does this chick think I'm going to get a babysitter on such short notice? Do I look...er...sound like I hang with people who stay home on Friday nights? I told her I'm new to this...

You can't leave seven year-olds home alone, can you?

No, I know. Dumb question. Of course you can't. Unless you're my mother, anyway.


End file.
